


Like Paint on Porcelain

by geekprincess26



Series: Northern Lights [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, coffee shop AU, winter au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 00:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12544316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: A silly mistake prevents Sansa Stark from getting her longtime wish for an afternoon spent sipping salted caramel hot chocolate in Wintertown’s coziest coffee house.  When her friend Jon Snow steps in to rectify it, Sansa gets more of a treat than she’d bargained for.





	Like Paint on Porcelain

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s declined.”

 

Sansa Stark snapped her gaze from the scones populating the glass case to her right to face the cashier in front of her.

 

“Excuse me?” she asked, but her heart sank.

 

“It’s been declined.” The young woman gave her an apologetic look. “Do you have another card?”

 

Sansa did not. She’d canceled all three of her credit cards when she’d left King’s Landing. She could hardly afford them on her salary as a temporary receptionist in Winterfell University’s visual arts department, so her silver Northern Star Bank card was all she had.

 

“Could you run it again, please?” she asked. She checked her bank balance every evening, and she knew she should have more than enough money in her account to afford one of Hornwood Coffee House’s famous salted caramel hot chocolates. Sansa’s strict budget, however, had made it an unattainable indulgence until now. Thanks to Jon Snow, the graduate student who had asked her to make a shoulder bag for his sister’s Christmas gift, she had met that sister, Rhaenys Targaryen, who had convinced Sansa to fulfill requests for similar bags from a few of her friends. “They’ll be marvelous,” Rhaenys had assured her, and, even though Sansa had not sewn anything for over a year, Rhaenys’s friends had agreed with the assessment.

 

So Sansa had been thrilled when she had deducted all of her monthly expenses from her most recent paycheck and calculated that she had enough left over for a small indulgence. She had longed for months to enjoy a quiet afternoon curled up on one of the overstuffed chairs scattered around the shop’s fireplace, sketching patterns for new bags while sipping on a salted caramel hot chocolate from one of the hand-painted mugs in which the shop served it in-house drinks.

 

She’d checked again last night. The money had been there. But now the young cashier was handing back Sansa’s useless bank card and telling her for a second time that it wasn’t. The girl spoke loudly enough to make the barista behind the counter turn around and stop making the drink he’d begun preparing, and Sansa felt a flush as red as her hair sweep over her face and neck.

 

“Do you have another card?” the girl asked, and Sansa shook her head.

 

“Oh.” The girl shrugged. “Sorry, then.”

 

Sansa shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she murmured, and turned abruptly to make way for the next person in line. She blinked back a rush of tears, which blurred the light of the flames dancing in the fireplace she was now facing.

 

_Wait. Light._

 

Sansa groaned. She’d forgotten the e-mail she’d received last week from her utilities provider informing her that due to her usual due date’s occurring on a weekend this month, her automatic payment would be deducted from her bank account two days earlier than usual – three days before her next paycheck would be deposited into her account. That meant the money would have been taken out today, leaving not quite enough for the hot chocolate she’d ordered.

 

“Sansa.”

 

Sansa wiped hastily at her eyes and turned around to face none other than Jon Snow, who was standing in front of the counter and regarding her with concern.

 

“Oh, hi, Jon,” she offered weakly. “How are you doing?”

 

“Good.” Jon nodded briefly. He still looked concerned. “Would you like to get a table?”

 

Sansa thought her cheeks must be the color of beets by now. She shook her head.

 

“It’s all right,” she said. “I was just leaving.”

 

“You ordered a salted caramel hot chocolate, right?” Jon asked, as calmly as if her were inquiring after the location of the nearest bus stop. He turned to the cashier.

 

“That, and a medium café Americano, please,” he said, handing the girl his own bank card. Sansa, much as she did not want to, forced her feet in his direction.

 

“Jon, no, it’s all right,” she murmured. “You really don’t have to.”

 

Jon shook his head. “No problem. I want to,” he said. Sansa swallowed the protest on the tip of her tongue and replaced it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

 

“Sure.” Jon took his card and the receipt from the cashier. “Would you like to share a table? Maybe the fireplace?”

 

Much as Sansa wanted to crawl into a dark hole and sip her hot chocolate there over the course of the next week or so, she nodded and reserved them two armchairs next to the fireplace. A few minutes later, Jon set a green-and-white painted mug on the table next to her chair. It was filled to the brim with something brown and steaming, and the drink was topped with an artful swirl of whipped cream, a drizzle of caramel sauce, and a barely visible sprinkle of salt.

 

“I think this belongs to you,” he said, settling himself into the chair next to hers, and Sansa felt another wave of heat sweep across her face.

 

“Thank you,” she said again. “You really didn’t have to, Jon; it was my fault I can’t do math like a grown adult.” The tears rushed back with a vengeance, and she stared at the fire and bit her lip.

 

Jon shook his head. “It happens to the best of us,” he said, and Sansa, not expecting that, looked over to meet his gaze. It gentled behind his owl-eyed glasses when he saw the moisture in her own.

 

“Really, it does,” he repeated. “I pulled much worse than that in college.”

 

Sansa’s eyes widened. Somehow, she could not imagine Jon’s having been that irresponsible. Jon, however, continued without missing a beat.

 

“I went out to a bar with some friends,” he said, “and when I had to pay, I realized I’d forgotten my wallet.” His hand reached back to rub his neck. “And I was drunk enough to think I’d left it in the bathroom. I stayed in there so long, they almost called security on me. I had to borrow the money from Aegon.” His face twisted at the memory as though he had just eaten a whole lemon. A giggle escaped Sansa, and then another, and before she could swallow a third, Jon had begun chuckling along with her.

 

“Yeah,” he said when they had stopped laughing. “Egg’s never let me live that one down.”

 

Sansa shook her head, still smiling. “Well,” she said, “in any case, I think I’ll just make a salted caramel hot chocolate the next time I want one.”

 

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You can make those?”

 

Sansa shrugged. “I used to do it back in college, years ago,” she said, and refrained from adding that once she had begun dating Joffrey Baratheon, he and his mother had mocked her mercilessly any time she had so much as mentioned making anything from a dress to a dozen cookies by hand rather than purchasing them from a person of taste. “It’s not terribly hard, especially if you use chocolate milk and a bit of butter instead of melting down a piece of chocolate. You just have to make sure the brown sugar dissolves properly before you stir it into the chocolate mixture.”

 

Jon gave her a bemused smile. “You and Uncle Jorah should definitely get together some time,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “He doesn’t make hot chocolate, but he does brew his own beer. He’s got almost half the basement set up for it, and any time I come over to help him he’s got another idea for another different batch. How he keeps all the different ingredients and flavors straight in his head I have no idea, but he’s a master.” He nodded at Sansa. “I just do whatever I’m told, but I think you’d really understand it. I’m sure he’d love to show you some time.”

 

Sansa blinked. Had he just asked her to visit his aunt and uncle’s house again? Or maybe he thought his sister would invite her, as Rhaenys had done for Daenerys’s New Year’s Eve party the prior month? But Jon said nothing else and merely rubbed the back of his neck again. Sansa took a long sip of her salted caramel hot chocolate and sighed with delight. It melted over her tongue in a wave of velvety sweetness and left behind the most delightful aftertaste of toffee.

 

“Mmmm,” she said, her eyes widening. She took another draught and gave another moan of delight, and Jon grinned like the Cheshire cat before emitting a rumble of laughter.

 

“Well, it is that good,” Sansa said, directing her sweetest _What-are-you-looking-at?_ stare at him. That only made Jon laugh harder – much as her brother Robb would have done back in Riverrun, when they were children.

 

“Well, have you ever had one?” Sansa asked when Jon had done laughing. He shook his head.

 

“Oh, you have to try it some time,” she said, then added, “unless you’re not a hot chocolate person, of course.”

 

“No, I like hot chocolate,” answered Jon. “I just haven’t tried it here before, is all. I don’t come here much.”

 

“Oh. Well, I can tell you that it’s wonderful,” said Sansa, taking another sip. Her eyes widened in pleasure again, and Jon’s eyes twinkled.

 

“Maybe I’ll try it next time I’m here,” he conceded, “although I agree with you.” Sansa looked at him, uncomprehending. “I mean, I usually make my drinks at home,” he continued, “although I probably don’t do it as well as you or Uncle Jorah.”

 

Sansa smiled and shook her head. “Well, like I said, it’s not that hard,” she replied. “I mean, once I get back in practice, I could show – or tell you, really, or e-mail or text you a recipe if you want.”

 

Jon’s smile spread to the corners of his brown eyes. “That would be great,” he agreed. “And – well, I can’t give you any recipes in return, because only Uncle Jorah really gets what he does to make his beer, but if you meet with him, he’ll show you the whole process. He’ll talk the ear off anyone who will listen to him describe it. And he’s always keen on giving samples of his drinks.” He scratched the back of his head, tousling his curls into a more beautifully tangled mess than they already were. “Actually, plenty of what they served at the New Year’s party was his. Did you have anything you liked in particular?”

 

Sansa tilted her head. “Actually,” she said, “I did; I think – yes, Rhaenys said it was blackberry cider.”

 

That earned her another grin from Jon. “Good choice,” he said. “I remember helping him out on that batch. It wasn’t nearly as hard as brewing beer. We didn’t have to worry about any hops; we just had to get the yeast mixture right, and then afterwards listen to Aunt Dany yell at Uncle Jorah for not cleaning the basement thoroughly enough…”

 

Almost three hours later, when the cashier trotted over to the fireplace and informed them that the shop would be closing in ten minutes, Jon checked the old-fashioned watch on his left wrist and raised an eyebrow.

 

“This is a first,” he said. “I’ve never been kicked out of a coffee shop before.”

 

Sansa did not try to bite back her laughter this time, and Jon gave her the wide grin that showed off his crooked tooth and his crinkling eyes.

 

“Well,” he said once they had deposited their mugs on the counter, “if you ever want to share a recipe with someone who’s been kicked out of a public establishment, I can give you my phone number. If you want, that is.” He stopped in front of the door and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

 

“Oh.” Sansa stopped in her tracks as well, but she hesitated only a moment before fishing her phone out of her purse and offering it to him. The screen cover was cracked down the middle and the corners of the case were dented, but Jon did not mind in the least, for when he took the phone from Sansa, he smiled again, and Sansa felt a sweet, warm trickle travel down her throat into her stomach and fingers and toes, and she decided to forgive her utility company.

 

After all, mistakes happened to even the best of people.


End file.
